There once was a young flamingo, named Jimmy. Jimmy had a great life. Parents who practically threw cash at him, an eager sex toy for a girlfriend, and every video game console know to man. There was just one problem.

Jimmy didn't have an asshole.

Sure, he had an ass. A nice, beautiful, firm, feathery ass. But there was nothing between those tight cheeks. This had never been a problem, until now.

One day Jimmy had just fucked Cassandra, the girlfriend, so hard he eyes were rolling in their sockets. He had the munchies from all the love-making, so he told the bitch to make him a sandwich.

A few minutes later, the greatest sandwich known to man was presented before him. Triple decker peanut butter, no jelly, with the crusts cut off. JIF, not Peter Pan, Creamy style. Jimmy scarfed it down, and whipped out his outrageously cock for seconds of Cassandra.

Hours pass, and Jimmy feels something in his stomach. No, it felt lower. it felt heavy. There was some pressure between those fantastic ass cheeks of his.

Jimmy had to take a dump.

he had never felt this before, so he wasn't quite sure what to do. He disregarded the feeling for the next few days, taking it in stride. Weeks go by, and good ol' Jim consumes sandwich after sandwich. Its been a month since the first urge came, and he feels like he's about to burst.

He's overloaded. He can't think. Jim falls to his knees and then it comes up. Since Jimmy can't shit out his ass, it comes out his mouth. Shit pours onto the floor like a fucking waterfall. The taste is burning his mouth. Solid chunks get stuck in his throat and Jim starts to choke. Their is still a lot of shit left in him, and now both ways are blocked. He starts to bloat. And then it happens.

Jimmy explodes.

The investigative team are in awe. A combination of organs, blood, and shit colorfully decorate the walls of Jimmy's living room. The smell is absolutely horrible. The coroner heaves on the floor, adding to the mess Jimmy left behind.

The funeral was closed casket, seeing as how there really was nothing to bury, except for one thing. The only body part recoverable was Jimmy's perfect ass. So the buried that, but not before pampering it up a bit.

The funeral was ok. Some cried, others had sex in Jimmy's old house. There was free beer. In the end, everyone was laughing, and most drank themselves to death, while others went into a coma. One guy had to get a liver transplant. Good fucking party I'd say.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

Cheap gimmicks to grap attention are not only lowly, I lost my train of thought. Hypocrisy is a delicious dish, served with a side of asshole.

Picking up where I left off, I bring news of our friend. As it turns out, Mr. Banks Esq, the sneaky fucking trickster he is, found his way behind the corner of the desk. Despite the fact, he still met an untimely end. I thank for your condolences.

Oh yeah, I ate him. He was delicious.

Recently I learned of a great game entitled "Never Ever". The object is to be the last person standing so to speak. You begin by holding up five fingers and go around taking turns saying things you've 'never ever' done. If someone says something that you've done, you put a finger down. Last one with a digit held high is the victor.

Now, I did not win this game once, but was comforted by knowing that "winning" the game is the equivalent of proclaiming "I have yet to live life".

Its the little things that count.

Ew, blogs.

Blah-gs.

I've been wondering what exactly to post here. There's really nothing significant enough in my life to interest someone in reading about me whine about it, you know? However, as of late a terrible tragedy has struck me and the one I used to hold dear.

For as long as five, wonderful, marvelous, and overall spectacular minutes, my poor comrade, (god rest his soul), brought me not only comfort, but nutrition and sustenance. I refer of course to my one true love, the bagel.

It all started around six or seven minutes ago. I was browsing the BBS when I began to feel rather peckish. My grandmother had recently acquired some foodstuffs from her local Dunkin Donuts, and they were now taking residence on the kitchen counter. I dug my hand into the bag, and pulled out my recently M.I.A. friend. Plain, with nothing on it. Just like Mama used to, (and still does), buy.

Me and what I had at the time called "Mr. Banks Esq." retreated back to my father's office to lurk through the murky depths known otherwise as the General forum.

Whilst I was wondering whether or not a link to what was supposedly a site containing "...everything your heart desires..." was in fact meatspin or possibly a YouTube video of Rick Roll, my hand lost its grip on Mr Banks Esq.

I heard it hit the ground, but when I looked down to search for it I found I could not. It had mysteriously disappeared.

While I was writing this, I feel I have come to grips with the departure of the best friend I may ever have. Whether he ran away, or was picked up by a hungry rat, or whether he's sitting under the desk, neglected and half-eaten, I dare not think about.

Where ever you are Mr. Banks Esq...I hope you're happy.

With love, your eternal friend,
Charlie